Something fishy
by HetaHetare
Summary: Arthur Kirkland has always been the personification of England, at least that's what he's always believed.
1. Prologue

"You can't do this to me, I am your nation, you wouldn't be here if not for me!"

The cry of protest rose into the air as the distraught blond was held down on his bed in the building that called itself a 'Secure Hospital' but that he could only think of as a mental asylum. It sounded pathetic and childish in the tension heavy air, like a child yelling that they'd hold their breath if they didn't get their way. "Mr Kirkland, please, calm yourself, we're here to help."

"Get that thing away from me!"

There was a metallic glint as a needle in the hand of one of the nurses caught the light as Arthur was held down long enough for her to find a vein. The nurse cooed sweet words of comfort to him, and the needle pierced his skin in the crook of his arm and gave him a small shot of ketamine . He hissed, lashing out. His hand caught someone, but he didn't see who, nor did he care. "You're making a big mistake, I'm not supposed to be here, I've got a country to run." the fight slowly leaked out of the blond as the drugs coursed through his blood and took affect on his system. Arthur's body fell limp and calm against the sheets. The orderlies moved out, leaving him with the nurse.

The nurse, an experienced woman by the name of Sarah, sat besides the sedated patient to make sure it had properly worked into his system so that he wouldn't lash out again. It had been some time since they'd had such a violent patient who had caused physical harm to the staff (usually they just caused harm to themselves, which wasn't any more pleasant.) It wasn't his fault, she reminded herself, the poor man was highly delusional. It wasn't her job to make a diagnosis, but the man thought he was a country, she didn't need training to know that wasn't mentally secure.

"Shh, don't fight it. You'll be safe here Arthur, you'll be safe and you'll get better. Your family is so worried about you, but you're safe now." she cooed.

Arthur's eyes became heavier, too heavy to keep open without immense effort. Sarah's words sounded like they were coming to him from the other side of a long dark tunnel. He barely felt her weight leave the bed as she left, locking him into his room. He supposed he wouldn't have been locked in if he was a good boy. Arthur scoffed at that, he'd served his people for a long time, all his life of course, and this was how he was given his thanks.

There was something that truly did worry Arthur, however. Even those who did not at first know of the personifications were innately inclined to believe them and know they were being truthful of their identity should it be fully revealed.

He also didn't know what she meant by having family worried about him, his family were the other personifications. Something fishy was going on, but Arthur's thoughts were quickly becoming a slow and falsely blissful soup in his skull. He couldn't think of any enemies that would benefit from having him here but surely...Arthur slept, his body not very resistant to the drug he'd been given and by the time he woke it would be to a very different lift than the one he was used to.

In another part of the building, within a well lit office, the man assigned as Arthur's therapist typed out the new patients details as well as his behaviour so far.

"Patient insists that he is England personified and the main representation of the United Kingdom." he spoke aloud softly to himself as he typed, English was not his first language and this helped him to make sure he made as few mistakes as possible. "He did not seem to register where he was when brought in, until Nurse.R tried to lead him to his room. The patient broke for the door and acted very violently towards the orderlies. One of the orderlies will now need stitches in his cheek and another may have a black eye in the morning. The violent behaviour seems directly correlated to his delusion, more specifically to the denying of that delusion by any third parties." he stopped typing there and made sure that Arthur's name and details were correct. "Arthur Kirkland..." he grinned. "Bon."


	2. So it begins

Francis tapped his pen restlessly on his desk, the soft 'clack clack clack' was the only sound in the room apart from the steady ticking of the clock which hung above the door. Arthur was refusing to talk. That was okay, not all patients were willing to open up right away, especially to Francis.

Francis liked to start by assuring the patient they would be listened to, and that was it. Rarely would he humour a delusional patient, or one with hallucinations. In fact he only did so when it became a tool for getting deeper into the patients head to work out an answer and help them to see reality. His technique's were very effective and many patients were glad they hadn't been handled with gloved hands, but sat on Francis' knees and nurtured firmly but gently. Metaphorically, of course.

"Okay Arthur, let's say that I am France." The doctor started. Arthur turned his head slowly to face him at those words, believing he was starting to crack Francis' patience for the joke he was playing. Arthur himself had started to get bored with waiting for this crack, but had forced himself to concentrate savagely on a patch of wall that looked as though it had once had something there. A board perhaps? A whiteboard, or a board for display? The wall was slightly discoloured and there were still holes where the pegs or screws would have been.

"Go on." Arthur prompted when Francis didn't speak any more after that sentence. The doctor gave his patient a soft smile, smiling because he believed he was on the first stages of getting through to Arthur.

"Let's say that I am France, could you tell me how we met?" Francis picked up his notepad. Old fashioned as that was, he liked to write things down by hand in French before typing it all up.

"Oh, very well..." Arthur had a feeling he'd be saying that a lot, everyone here was trying his patience especially this pillock. It was only his stubbornness that stopped him leaving, now that he was sure he could. He wanted answers and he'd do whatever he could to get them. "Like you don't know it anyway. But, we are neighbours and as neighbours it was only a matter of time before you sailed over to me or vice versa. You had always been older than me, and...and I suppose for a long time I envied you and wanted to be like you. Besides from war, you were more modern than I by the time we met. You had clothing and food I could only have dreamed of, but no, I don't remember the exact date of meeting. It was a long time ago after all." an idea came to him then and he smirked to himself at such cleverness. "It's a shame though, isn't it France? We were very good friends when we were children, we taught each other a lot and for a long time were friends even when our people were not. Wouldn't it be nice to just be friends again and stop messing each other around?"

Francis blinked. "I'm not going to let you out until you're better."

"Oh bugger you!" Arthur exclaimed in anger. "You know I'm telling the truth, you bastard, why can't you just stop this charade? I have important work to do and so do you. Could you at least tell me what lesson you're trying to make me learn or whatever, because all of this is completely absurd. And for the record I plan to walk right out of here as I please."

"Arthur, I assure you, I am not trying to trick you. I am not playing a joke on you, or punishing you to make you learn a lesson and I won't be doing so at all. It seems you're not quite ready to talk yet, so we're finishing for today. You can go back to your room, or to the rec-room for relaxation if you wish." Francis pressed his call button. "Also if you try to leave, we will have to take steps to keep you here, legally you're required to stay."

Arthur growled as Sarah came in to collect him. He stood, livid but too confused to just beat the crap out of Francis like he wanted to. "This isn't over, France." he followed Sarah then, but chose to go to his room than sit with a bunch of loony's.

Arthur had nothing to do in his room however, there were no books, just the basics. He might as well have been in prison, apart from the comfort it was practically the same. There were even bars on the outside of his window. He didn't know why he hadn't left, maybe it was because he wasn't sure how deep this shit was and didn't want to sink any further, maybe it was that stubborn need to break Francis into pieces for messing him around. "I'm going to find out what's going on France, you can count on that."


	3. Old friend

A week passed and Arthur was soon labelled as 'uncooperative.' Mostly because he refused to leave his room except to eat and use the loo. Well, he wasn't an animal and his room had no en-suite. Some rooms did, some didn't, Arthur didn't much care as the facility was wonderfully clean.

The Briton had thought a lot. Suppose for a moment, that he was insane? That his whole life had been one big lie made up by his mind. It filled Arthur with a sick dread. His whole spine seemed to become ice, the very morning he begun to let himself think about it was the morning he couldn't even bring himself to get up for breakfast. If his life were a lie and he were simply a human, then what had he actually been doing for all of his life? When he'd been fighting battles and surviving on his own wits as a child, what had actually been going on? He couldn't think of the answers and yet he couldn't stop thinking about his possible insanity.

Even so it all circled back to Francis and the need to get the truth from him. Arthur hoped that the truth wasn't that he was truly insane.

"Arthur?" Sarah had returned each day and now was no exception. However, she'd never come in and seen him still in bed. He'd always been up and dressed, as if their meeting was of some great importance. She feared this was a sign of him getting worse so when he didn't answer the second time, she went to speak with Francis and ask him if it would be best for him to go and personally see Arthur.

"You are not the doctor here, my darling." He'd purred to her, like she was some girl off the street he could charm away. "Leave such important choices to the professionals okay? Don't worry your pretty self, I don't want such a lovely dear to worry." it had made her feel slightly flustered inside. Francis' words and his tone of voice made a lot of people feel flustered, though not always in a good way. Still, now she was only angry at that judgement. So she didn't have some fancy degree, but she knew people and Arthur had hit a low.

"Arthur?" Sarah had returned, at least wanting to get him to eat breakfast.

Arthur turned and sat. "I'm not hungry...I'll just have dinner...actually, could I go and sit in the rec-room today?"

Sarah beamed and nodded before leaving so that Arthur could dress. Arthur did dress, but as he did so his eyes were on the door and the woman's shadow outside of it. When he saw another shadow join hers, Sarah's head poked back into the room. Arthur was still shirtless by this time. "Arthur, I need to tend another patient, I'll be right back."

Arthur nodded and she left him. After his first violence, he'd been more closely observed for the week (as was standard) and during that time he'd been calm, and even apologized to those he'd hurt. Arthur put on a shirt and left the room, but he did not go to the rec-room or to breakfast, he headed left. Even orderlies who passed didn't give him much attention, assuming he knew where he was going. Arthur exited the corridor through a set of double doors and perked up when one of the cleaners came by. She smiled at him and he smiled back.

Arthur continued on, following the curve of the building until he came to Francis' office. Now that he was here, he wasn't sure how he'd planned to get in. Arthur tried the handle, if it were open then the doctor would almost certainly be inside. It was open, but Francis was not sat obnoxiously behind the desk. Arthur scanned the room and saw a second door in the room, one almost certainly leading to a bathroom. It was closed, but he could hear small movements behind it. There was no way he'd know just how long Francis had been in there or how long he planned to stay in there, so Arthur moved quickly and headed to the desk. It was a large oak number, with six drawers. Three on one side of the leg room, three on the other and all locked. Arthur scanned the desk for the keys, nothing. A part of him told him he was being stupid, Francis might have left his door open but he wouldn't leave his keys around because a patient might just walk in seeking his guidance.

Still he searched under useless order forms and doodles the Frenchman had done between sessions. He gently pushed back Francis' chair and started to search the pockets of the jacket that hung there. Arthur's hand touched cold metal, and gripped around it. He felt the shapes and bumps that were unmistakably small keys and almost couldn't believe his dumb luck. His heart almost stopped at the sound of the toilet being flushed, his time limited, if the dirty frog was actually going to wash his hands. Arthur took the keys, only those for the drawers it looked like, the door was card activated anyway. He slipped them into his own pocket and then was gone.

When Francis came out, he noticed nothing at first. Humming to himself and thinking about the progress he'd made with the cat-obsessed young man who started to believe he actually was a feline that he was seeing next, Francis sat. Although Arthur had not pushed back the chair, Francis brought it in and sat without thinking about the change. There was no significant shift in the papers Arthur had looked under, so he didn't notice that either. However, Francis by chance looked up and frowned. His door wasn't closed all the way, it rested against the frame but not closed into it. The doctor stood and studied it a moment, before slipping out from behind his desk and going to shut the door. He'd turned back when he thought better of it and opened the door again, poking his head out. Nobody was waiting outside for him, though some passing gave him a good smile. Francis smiled back, but felt a stir of confusion and curiosity about the slightly opened door.

Sitting back down, Francis was forced to file that curiosity away for some other time so that he could actually get to work. Arthur meanwhile had made it back to his room with the keys. He took them out of his pocket and hid them under the small dresser he had. Hopefully, nobody would sweep them out from under there before he had a chance to use them. He needed to see what Francis had written about him, and any clues about exactly how this joke was being pulled off. Arthur was now just plain refusing to accept that he was insane, he knew what was real and what was not and doubting himself was just what France wanted.

Arthur sighed and allowed himself to be led to the rec-room when Sarah returned, not even a minute after he'd returned and hidden the keys, his heart hadn't even calmed down it's speed from the adrenaline. He sat himself down near a window, where the sun came in and warmed him. One of the other patients tried to engage a conversation with him, he replied but frosty, so his would-be friend lost interest and left him be. Arthur knew what was real, and he would stick by it. He knew his identity as England was as real as the sun on his face, as real as the chair beneath him and the clothes upon him.


	4. Theft

It was 5:31 pm on a sweet Tuesday afternoon, and Arthur Kirkland was remembering. He hadn't had time to do so during the day, between being forced to attend 'therapy' with Francis which went nowhere (around and around, the two playing with each other ) and then creative therapy afterwards. Arthur hadn't much gone for that anyway, but he'd drawn (or tried to draw) the house he remembered living in. He supposed they'd study it and try to understand its deep mysteries but it was just a house, no more and no less, except to the quacks. He's eaten without trouble and succeeded in being polite to both humans and faeries. Now, Arthur Kirkland sat in his room remembering.

He was remembering the very day before he'd been brought into this secure hospital, one week and almost two days ago. He remembered his house fully, it wasn't a very expensive place and in fact needed some work. There was a large crack in the upper right corner of the ceiling in the living room, a crack opened up by the damp that even then bulged the ceiling around the edges, making it look like badly applied wallpaper. The same kind of thing presented itself in Arthur's bedroom, but he refused to use his government's money to fix it or get himself a larger house. He was paid just around as much as an average office worker would get paid, as arranged. Each turn of the century or so that had changed in accordance to what occupation was popular at that time and thus would supply him with just enough money to live.

Arthur's memory side-tracked to his younger days, when people first discovered what he was and what he meant for them. They'd tried to harness his immortality, his magic, anything they deemed he was good for. Arthur himself had contemplated his existence a lot, and even now he didn't much know why the personifications existed, only that each nation no matter how small had one, and that a micronation needed one if it ever stood a chance at being recognised.

Arthur shook his head, looked down and noticed he was tying and untying the corner of his blanket into a knot. He put it down and fluffed up his pillow a little more to get comfortable and go back into his memory, trying to pick holes in it or find evidence. Of what? Of how he was right, and hadn't just hallucinated his whole life. Why his mind had chosen this memory he did not know, but he'd go with it since it wanted so much to be relived.

Arthur had made himself a big plate of spaghetti Bolognese that day. Nations didn't have to eat near so much as people did, so this was his first meal in around four weeks. Of course, some nations chose to eat everyday as often or more frequent than humans did. France for one, that food loving fool. Arthur however couldn't stand the chore of cooking, or the annoying necessity of going food shopping when things became low in stock. In fact, the only thing he bought often were tea bags, he did drink a lot of tea, often without thinking about it.

He'd made himself the meal that day despite not feeling hungry but supposing it was getting to a time where his unusual body would need the food. Present day Arthur mused on how little he ate and how if he'd been human, his body would have been a lot worse for wear because of it. He filed that away to tell Francis, the more evidence he presented the more he'd push Francis into a corner until he broke and ended this farce. He always ate in the living room because there was really no room in the kitchen. The plate was placed on a towel-covered plastic tray and so had the hot cup of tea. Back into the living room now and Arthur barely got through a quarter of the plate before realizing he wasn't going to eat the rest of it. He promised himself he'd eat it later and after downing the tea, went back to the kitchen and covered the plate before laying it aside on the dark marble counter top. He'd felt guilty then, because he knew he'd never eat it and would indeed end up putting it into the bin later that day.

Arthur yawned and came away from the memory, not entirely useful. He was trying to pass time, mostly. Pass time until it became late enough to sneak out. He was no longer locked in his room at night, let out only when he called for the loo, so that part would go smoothly enough. Arthur waited, his eyes wandering to his hiding place for the stolen keys. Had Francis noticed they were missing? He hadn't seemed to have in their session, then again he wouldn't show it would he?

Francis had indeed noticed that his keys were gone when he'd been unable to find them to open his drawers and get out his notes. He'd continued on making new notes on a pad already on his desk (a waste, he'd considered). After the session, he'd turned his room upside down for the keys, twice, before reporting the keys missing. When Arthur had come in, he was no more a suspect than anyone else, so Francis had kept himself professional.

At 8:48pm, Arthur woke without realizing that he'd dozed off. Cursing, he got up and stretched out. His spine cracked a little from where he'd been uncomfortably curled up. Arthur had no idea who was on duty now, he'd learnt from Sarah that they changed around at 9pm, which he only assumed it was close to or past, not being able to see the small clock on his wall despite hearing its relentless ticking.

Arthur walked forward, arms outstretched, till he softly connected with the wall. His hand glided over its surface until he found the light switch and turned it on. Green eyes squinted in the new light. Sarah stated that they had no true 'lights out' since some patients couldn't yet sleep without them on, or would sometimes need to turn them on after night terrors or during the grips of hallucinations to which they believed light would kill their made up monsters. Arthur waited for his eyes to adjust, from his years as a spy he'd learnt quickly that blundering forward when you could barely see would get you nowhere. You'd think that was common sense, but it was amazing how often people just wanted to rush when on a 'job'.

Once the Briton could see properly again, he approached the dresser and bent down. His hand only just fit underneath, snagging the loop that the keys were attached to, he pulled them out. Arthur hadn't noticed before, but they had a small tag attached to that loop as well, identifying them as Francis'. He thought for a moment of pulling that tag off, just in case he was found out, but that seemed a fruitless venture than would take more effort that was worth it, plastic tags were the devil.

Arthur wasn't particularly nervous, he'd done more dangerous things than this in his life. This was practically a breeze, hiding the small keys in his fist, Arthur left his room. He kept the light on and made sure to fully close the door, so it would seem almost that he was still there. A nurse was passing and he smiled at her, heading for where the bathroom was. She looked back at him. Arthur paused with his hand on the large cool handle of the bathroom, he rose the other hand and waved. The nurse stayed put, and he scowled at her, making it seem he was uncomfortable with her stares, before slipping inside.

What was her deal? Was she supposed to watch him go to the bathroom that way? If she stayed out there until he left and returned to his room, it would not only waste precious time but be a bit of a confusion for the camera's catching him going to the bathroom twice in quick succession. Oh yes, he knew of the camera, just as he knew at 9pm they changed everyone. Not just the nurses, but the guards who watched the cameras. He'd have a best ten minutes to quickly get to where he wanted to be and then he'd wing it to Francis' office. Ten minutes once it hit 9pm, and when he'd left the clock he'd glanced at had read 8:54pm.


	5. A plan in action

It was 5:31 pm on a sweet Tuesday afternoon, and Arthur Kirkland was remembering. He hadn't had time to do so during the day, between being forced to attend 'therapy' with Francis which went nowhere (around and around, the two playing with each other ) and then creative therapy afterwards. Arthur hadn't much gone for that anyway, but he'd drawn (or tried to draw) the house he remembered living in. He supposed they'd study it and try to understand its deep mysteries but it was just a house, no more and no less, except to the quacks. He's eaten without trouble and succeeded in being polite to both humans and faeries. Now, Arthur Kirkland sat in his room remembering.

He was remembering the very day before he'd been brought into this secure hospital, one week and almost two days ago. He remembered his house fully, it wasn't a very expensive place and in fact needed some work. There was a large crack in the upper right corner of the ceiling in the living room, a crack opened up by the damp that even then bulged the ceiling around the edges, making it look like badly applied wallpaper. The same kind of thing presented itself in Arthur's bedroom, but he refused to use his government's money to fix it or get himself a larger house. He was paid just around as much as an average office worker would get paid, as arranged. Each turn of the century or so that had changed in accordance to what occupation was popular at that time and thus would supply him with just enough money to live.

Arthur's memory side-tracked to his younger days, when people first discovered what he was and what he meant for them. They'd tried to harness his immortality, his magic, anything they deemed he was good for. Arthur himself had contemplated his existence a lot, and even now he didn't much know why the personifications existed, only that each nation no matter how small had one, and that a micronation needed one if it ever stood a chance at being recognised.

Arthur shook his head, looked down and noticed he was tying and untying the corner of his blanket into a knot. He put it down and fluffed up his pillow a little more to get comfortable and go back into his memory, trying to pick holes in it or find evidence. Of what? Of how he was right, and hadn't just hallucinated his whole life. Why his mind had chosen this memory he did not know, but he'd go with it since it wanted so much to be relived.

Arthur had made himself a big plate of spaghetti Bolognese that day. Nations didn't have to eat near so much as people did, so this was his first meal in around four weeks. Of course, some nations chose to eat everyday as often or more frequent than humans did. France for one, that food loving fool. Arthur however couldn't stand the chore of cooking, or the annoying necessity of going food shopping when things became low in stock. In fact, the only thing he bought often were tea bags, he did drink a lot of tea, often without thinking about it.

He'd made himself the meal that day despite not feeling hungry but supposing it was getting to a time where his unusual body would need the food. Present day Arthur mused on how little he ate and how if he'd been human, his body would have been a lot worse for wear because of it. He filed that away to tell Francis, the more evidence he presented the more he'd push Francis into a corner until he broke and ended this farce. He always ate in the living room because there was really no room in the kitchen. The plate was placed on a towel-covered plastic tray and so had the hot cup of tea. Back into the living room now and Arthur barely got through a quarter of the plate before realizing he wasn't going to eat the rest of it. He promised himself he'd eat it later and after downing the tea, went back to the kitchen and covered the plate before laying it aside on the dark marble countertop. He'd felt guilty then, because he knew he'd never eat it and would indeed end up putting it into the bin later that day.

Arthur yawned and came away from the memory, not entirely useful. He was trying to pass time, mostly. Pass time until it became late enough to sneak out. He was no longer locked in his room at night, let out only when he called for the loo, so that part would go smoothly enough. Arthur waited, his eyes wandering to his hiding place for the stolen keys. Had Francis noticed they were missing? He hadn't seemed to have in their session, then again he wouldn't show it would he?

Francis had indeed noticed that his keys were gone when he'd been unable to find them to open his drawers and get out his notes. He'd continued on making new notes on a pad already on his desk (a waste, he'd considered). After the session, he'd turned his room upside down for the keys, twice, before reporting the keys missing. When Arthur had come in, he was no more a suspect than anyone else, so Francis had kept himself professional.

At 8:48pm, Arthur woke without realizing that he'd dozed off. Cursing, he got up and stretched out. His spine cracked a little from where he'd been uncomfortably curled up. Arthur had no idea who was on duty now, he'd learnt from Sarah that they changed around at 9pm, which he only assumed it was close to or past, not being able to see the small clock on his wall despite hearing its relentless ticking.

Arthur walked forward, arms outstretched, till he softly connected with the wall. His hand glided over its surface until he found the light switch and turned it on. Green eyes squinted in the new light. Sarah stated that they had no true 'lights out' since some patients couldn't yet sleep without them on, or would sometimes need to turn them on after night terrors or during the grips of hallucinations to which they believed light would kill their made up monsters. Arthur waited for his eyes to adjust, from his years as a spy he'd learnt quickly that blundering forward when you could barely see would get you nowhere. You'd think that was common sense, but it was amazing how often people just wanted to rush when on a 'job'.

Once the Briton could see properly again, he approached the dresser and bent down. His hand only just fit underneath, snagging the loop that the keys were attached to, he pulled them out. Arthur hadn't noticed before, but they had a small tag attached to that loop as well, identifying them as Francis'. He thought for a moment of pulling that tag off, just in case he was found out, but that seemed a fruitless venture than would take more effort that was worth it, plastic tags were the devil.

Arthur wasn't particularly nervous, he'd done more dangerous things than this in his life. This was practically a breeze, hiding the small keys in his fist, Arthur left his room. He kept the light on and made sure to fully close the door, so it would seem almost that he was still there. A nurse was passing and he smiled at her, heading for where the bathroom was. She looked back at him. Arthur paused with his hand on the large cool handle of the bathroom, he rose the other hand and waved. The nurse stayed put, and he scowled at her, making it seem he was uncomfortable with her stares, before slipping inside.

What was her deal? Was she supposed to watch him go to the bathroom that way? If she stayed out there until he left and returned to his room, it would not only waste precious time but be a bit of a confusion for the camera's catching him going to the bathroom twice in quick succession. Oh yes, he knew of the camera, just as he knew at 9pm they changed everyone. Not just the nurses, but the guards who watched the cameras. He'd have a best ten minutes to quickly get to where he wanted to be and then he'd wing it to Francis' office. Ten minutes once it hit 9pm, and when he'd left the clock he'd glanced at had read 8:54pm.


	6. Almost perfect

Arthur's heart was like a war drum in his chest, heavy and steaming along to an aggressive and adrenaline fuelling pace. He reached Francis' office and slid the stolen card into the admission slot. The red light on the side flashed green and let him in. Arthur opened the door slowly and closed it just as slowly whilst holding the handle. Even the small click it made seemed way too loud and he took a moment to listen and see if anyone had heard. If they had, they weren't coming to see what was going on. And why should they? Even at night, doors were opening and closing all over.

Creeping over to the desk, he wished he'd found and brought a light. Too late for that now, he crouched down behind the desk. Arthur placed the key on the chair next to him, along with the card. Starting at the right hand side, Arthur let his eyes adjust to the darkness and make out the neat letters on the label just below the handle. His eyes moved down and when he found the right drawer, a grin crawled along his face.

'Outsmarted you again, frog-beard.' he thought to himself.

Arthur carefully picked up the small key, feeling his finger along the metal to make sure it was facing the right way. Arthur pressed his hand against the drawer, getting his face close so he could press the key into the lock. He missed it the first time and got it in the second. Arthur turned and...it didn't move.

For a moment, his heart almost stopped. He tried to turn it again and took it out, straining again to read the label on the drawer. It was definitely 'I-L' on the drawer. Arthur cursed, was it possible he'd picked up the wrong key when he dropped the other key on the floor? Completely possible, and idiot that he was he hadn't checked. No time to check now, he'd never get a chance to get those keys again.

Arthur stayed crouched, rubbing his temples and trying to think. He would have to leave the key here, it was useless now, completely useless. Arthur was about to stand up and leave when the light overhead came on.

Arthur held his breath. He hadn't even heard the door open, it was clearly a cold day in Hell since he (a trained spy) had been sneaked up on by a silly old frog.

"I can see your feet, come on out." Francis had stayed behind, he'd been working late and just gone for coffee. It was then the idea hit him that his key thief may try and get back into his office somehow.

The cleaner that Arthur had given the keys to had caught him drinking his coffee and wondering if he should stay away from the office a little longer and see what happened, she'd told him who had given back the keys and somehow Francis was not surprised. Arthur had designated him as an enemy from his fantasies. He couldn't be mad at the Briton, it wasn't like Arthur was thinking that way on purpose. Either way, Francis had headed back as soon as he'd gotten those keys and that information and noted that one was missing, although not the one for the drawer with Arthur's information - curiously enough.

Arthur stood, he couldn't meet Francis' eyes. "Okay, so you caught me. Now what, solitary?"

Francis slowly approached his patient. "Look at me Arthur, I want you to look up at me."

Arthur looked, eyes blazing in hate and humiliation.

"Good." Francis smiled. "Listen Arthur, you will be monitored after this and have some privileges taken, but for now I just want to talk about why you did this. Could you please come around here and sit down?"

Arthur did so, sitting, but still glaring as Francis moved to his side of the desk. He picked up the missing key and card that had once more been placed on the chair. "A cleaners card? She hadn't even noticed it was gone. You're quite talented, aren't you?" Arthur's didn't speak or even smile.

"Moving on...why did you want to get into my files? Anything on you, you're free to ask for." Francis saw shock come to Arthur's face, followed by bitter humiliation. Arthur followed his arms, muttering curses under his breath. "That's why, isn't it? You didn't think I'd give it to you."

"Something like that."

"Okay Arthur, you can go back to bed. I am going to trust you to go right back, even though I shouldn't. I can trust you, can't I?" Francis remarked as Arthur stood to leave.

"Yes you can." Arthur walked to the door, back stiff. He didn't turn, but spoke clearly. "You've won this round France, it shan't happen again."


	7. Caught

Arthur's heart was like a war drum in his chest. He reached Francis' office and slid the stolen card into the admission slot. The red light on the side flashed green and let him in. Arthur opened the door slowly and closed it just as slowly whilst holding the handle. Even the small click it made seemed way too loud.

Creeping over to the desk, he wished he'd found and brought a light. Too late for that now, he crouched down behind the desk. Arthur placed the key on the chair next to him, along with the card. Starting at the right hand side, Arthur let his eyes adjust to the darkness and make out the neat letters on the label just below the handle. His eyes moved down and when he found the right drawer, a grin crawled along his face.

'Outsmarted you again, frog-beard.' he thought to himself.

Arthur carefully picked up the small key, feeling his finger along the metal to make sure it was facing the right way. Arthur pressed his hand against the drawer, getting his face close so he could press the key into the lock. He missed it the first time and got it in the second. Arthur turned and...it didn't move.

For a moment, his heart almost stopped. He tried to turn it again and took it out, straining again to read the label on the drawer. It was definitely 'I-L' on the drawer. Arthur cursed, was it possible he'd picked up the wrong key when he dropped the other key on the floor? Completely possible, and idiot that he was he hadn't checked. No time to check now, he'd never get a chance to get those keys again.

Arthur stayed crouched, rubbing his temples and trying to think. He would have to leave the key here, it was useless now, completely useless. Arthur was about to stand up and leave when the light overhead came on.

Arthur held his breath.

"I can see your feet, come on out." Francis had stayed behind, he'd been working late and just gone for coffee. It was then the idea hit him that his key thief may try and get back into his office somehow.

The cleaner that Arthur had given the keys to had caught him drinking his coffee and wondering if he should stay away from the office a little longer and see what happened, she'd told him who had given back the keys and somehow Francis was not surprised. Arthur had designated him as an enemy from his fantasies. He couldn't be mad at the Briton, it wasn't like Arthur was thinking that way on purpose. Either way, Francis had headed back as soon as he'd gotten those keys and that information and noted that one was missing, although not the one for the drawer with Arthur's information - curiously enough.

Arthur stood, he couldn't meet Francis' eyes. "Okay, so you caught me. Now what, solitary?"

Francis slowly approached his patient. "Look at me Arthur, I want you to look up at me."

Arthur looked, eyes blazing in hate and humiliation.

"Good." Francis smiled. "Listen Arthur, you will be monitored after this and have some privileges taken, but for now I just want to talk about why you did this. Could you please come around here and sit down?"

Arthur did so, sitting, but still glaring as Francis moved to his side of the desk. He picked up the missing key and card that had once more been placed on the chair. "A cleaners card? She hadn't even noticed it was gone. You're quite talented, aren't you?" Arthur's didn't speak or even smile.

"Moving on...why did you want to get into my files? Anything on you, you're free to ask for." Francis saw shock come to Arthur's face, followed by bitter humiliation. Arthur followed his arms, muttering curses under his breath. "That's why, isn't it? You didn't think I'd give it to you."

"Something like that."

"Okay Arthur, you can go back to bed. I am going to trust you to go right back, even though I shouldn't. I can trust you, can't I?" Francis remarked as Arthur stood to leave.

"Yes you can." Arthur walked to the door, back stiff. He didn't turn, but spoke clearly. "You've won this round France, it shan't happen again."


	8. The start of real therapy

Arthur felt a wave of dizziness when he woke the next morning. He looked to his door and heaved a sigh. After returning to his room, a nurse had come and locked him in. Not Sarah, she'd been blamed for allowing him to sneak and get the keys in the first place. It would be a different nurse almost every time now. He heaved another sigh, big and fake and satisfying.

By that time, the information on what he'd done (and camera evidence showed some of how he'd done it) had already circulated among those who needed to know it. He would be watched carefully for another week and even after kept a closer eye on before. The new nurse (Betty, he thought her name was) had explained that from now on, if he were alone outside of his room, he would be escorted back if that was where he was supposed to be.

Arthur didn't mind, he was fuming. Firstly, he was mad at himself for not checking he'd picked up the correct key. Secondly, he was mad at Francis. Francis who had put him here, who was being cunning and trapping him in corners. Want to view your files? Sure, you are a real patient after all.

"Bollocks!" Arthur declared strongly out loud, slipping out of bed now that the dizziness was gone. He dressed himself and pressed the small call button beside his door. "I'm ready for breakfast." he told the male nurse (Shaun, he remembered that one) who came to get him.

Shaun talked too much, he chattered way too much as he walked Arthur to the mess hall and helped him collect his breakfast and sit back down. Arthur had tuned out almost right away, so had no idea what Shaun was talking about. "Could you not talk?" he asked eventually, wanting to at least eat in peace. The male nurse blushed, and Arthur felt a little sorry, he didn't look all that old or experienced.

After Arthur had finished eating, he was led back to Francis' room. "Good morning Arthur." the doctor greeted.

"I shouldn't be here." Arthur greeted in response. "You think I'm delusional, and it's highly recommended that delusional people avoid hospitalisation at all costs."

"You're rather smart, Arthur." Francis had been scolded himself, he hadn't been dealing with Arthur's condition correctly and only hoped to restore trust between the two of them. He had planned to do that from the start, not being able to predict that he would play a direct part in Arthur's delusions as a person he hated. "I'm sorry that's how I made you feel, honestly I was just curious about your beliefs."

"Bollocks."

"But from now on, I just want to talk about your life with you. After all, I only know what your brothers have told me but it's best to get things from the horse's mouth, right? I do not want to make you feel uncomfortable any more and we both know that just putting you on medications is ridiculous because you don't need them, you just need some time. What do you think about that?" Francis smiled, sure he'd recovered the situation a little bit.

"I think...you're a twat." Arthur replied, folding his arms.

Francis laughed. "Your sense of humour...my my." Francis wrote that down, not that he'd been called a twat but that Arthur was greeting him with hostility. "Anyway, your brothers, could you tell me about them? They are the ones who insisted you be hospitalised."

"Oh they would, wouldn't they? You've always been too close to Scotland for my liking." Arthur uncrossed his arms and leaned forward instead. He planned to be the one doing the trapping this time, he would give such clear answers that there was no way Francis could turn them on him.

"Scotland, I'm sorry but which one is that?" Francis had no idea which, though he had noted how each brother had moved to live in a different part of the UK and Republic of Ireland when they had been old enough.

"Alistair." Arthur grunted, like Francis didn't know. "Then there's Northern Ireland, Republic of Ireland and Wales. Older brothers, though with the way things are you can't often be exactly sure of anything."

Francis quickly tried to move away from the delusion. "And they all work?"

"Yes, but I do a bit more of the work than they are, also being the representative of the UK." Arthur replied. He saw a small look cross Francis face that looked almost pained and gave a crocodile grin. "Stuck, France?"

"No no, not stuck and it's Francis." The doctor wrote down in shorthand what he'd been told. "Where do you work Arthur? I'm assured your brothers have dealt with your leave so I won't talk in past tense."

"I work for the government, sorting out the things they can't be bothered to hire someone to do. Mostly paper-work, but I'm there with the prime minister or royals for important meetings or public shows." Arthur thought about his life a lot at that moment, Francis recognised that look of deep thinking and didn't disturb him.

His life was rather boring, when Arthur thought about it, he was called up when he was needed and then mostly for appearance. He'd rendezvous with other countries whilst their leaders spoke to one another and sometimes he had a say in what went on. Otherwise he existed just because he had to, as symbol as much as the flag was. Arthur sighed. "Anything else?"

"Let's talk more about your work, okay? You seem...unsatisfied..."


	9. Madness is catching

Arthur talked for a solid hour about his job as a nation and about the times he'd spent his days actually working. "To keep myself busy." he'd explained. "Sometimes life just get's boring and you know you've hit rock bottom when you miss the days when bloody battles were fought, at least there was something to do then!" Francis had listened attentively, sometimes taking notes and sometimes just chewing on the top of his pen. This was going to take longer than he'd thought, perhaps this wasn't just a simple delusion disorder.

Arthur truly did not seem to be able to remember his real life as a customer service worker, he was lost in his delusion. What Francis really needed to know was how he'd managed to keep up a real job and life at all. That was something it seemed he'd have to ask the family about, since Arthur's delusions had no break in them except perhaps the time he was talking about his office work.

"You said you worked for a company near Bingley?" Francis interrupted. "Uh? Oh yes, they had me answering phones, doing some filing...you know, that kind of stuff." Arthur shrugged. "Funny isn't it France? How people who know of us expect us to either be a government worker or in the armed forces. Not that we don't do such things, but hey hey-! We have to try and blend in don't we, can't be too important or the humans get jealous."

Francis scribbled that down, again upset that Arthur had gone from what could be normal talk straight back into the delusion. Obviously it was deeply ingrained in him, he'd needed this help and he needed hospitalisation. Francis knew he'd be criticized, told it was his fault Arthur was this bad because he was reinforcing in Arthur's mind that something was wrong with him.

Except as Arthur kept talking about the positions of nations, Francis realized that Arthur was not talking at all like he knew the things he was saying weren't real. When people came here with delusions, they usually had become aware that what they thought was real wasn't and just needed some help letting go of them. Arthur was different...Arthur...Arthur was almost making him believe in what he was saying. It was such an imaginative and detailed delusion, complete with hallucinations so greatly vivid that he'd lived his life in a daze of lies, going through the motions of normalcy as his mind stayed in the clouds.

Francis wrote one word down on his paper as a possibility, then added a question mark.

It read: 'Schizophrenia?'

"Our time is up Arthur, thank you for speaking with me and do remember to eat." Francis pressed the call button since Arthur still needed supervision. Arthur, chest swelled in confidence that he was wearing Francis down, was positively grinning as he was led to his room. "But what if he were telling the truth?" Francis mumbled to himself in French. "Would such a thing even be possible?" Francis thought about it long and hard. Arthur had said that their existence throughout history had been secret to almost everyone except leaders, so it would be possible that Francis and those in the hospital had not heard of such a thing. "But I'm not France, I'd know that." He cursed and powered up his computer to type up his notes in Arthur's file. If he kept thinking like that, _he_ was going to be the delusional one.

Francis returned home that night with Arthur still in his brain. He looked around his home and wondered...what if he was France and this was his delusion? What if he only thought this was his life and that Arthur,

(England)

_Arthur, _had been sent to try to get him back to reality? Francis laughed, he laughed to himself because the idea was so funny, so out there. Still, it ran in his mind, simply refusing to shut off. The possibility of it all became wider, all kinds of scenarios playing until Francis was dreaming of it.

Francis dreamt that he woke up in a house that wasn't the one he'd fallen asleep in, yet he knew it was his true home (it was a dream after all and you knew all kinds of things in a dream that you didn't when you woke, such as strange houses being yours even though you'd never seen them before). Sitting up, he saw framed pictures on the wall, some taken and some - oh dear lord - _painted. _

Francis got out of his bed to look at these pictures, pictures of him mostly. Portraits painted with him in clothes from eras he knew in the dream, but also knew he wouldn't once he was awake. "But what if I am awake now?" he spoke to his portrait. Other photos showed him in various armies, with leaders of France he recognised by face but not name, with people he knew he'd never have really met because they had just been way before his time. Each and every picture felt completely in place on his bedroom walls though, they made him smile, they were memories. "But some memories aren't here, because nothing for making pictures really existed back then." he assured himself in confident dream tones.

Ah! Here was the picture he'd wanted to see just as soon as his eyes had been drawn to him, the _pièce de résistance. _Francis took this photo off of the wall, it was very recent, very modern. In it he saw himself shaking hands with Arthur, with England, for a social gathering. He saw a spark between them, something between hate and understanding. "It's real."


	10. The next step

Arthur had gotten to Francis in ways he did not yet know. As he lay in bed the very same night that Francis had his vivid and disturbing dreams, he was hatching his own plans. Arthur had tried his magic here and it still came to him, still filled him up and made him tingle, but some law was stopping him from doing anything with it.

Arthur sat up and yawned, propping up his pillow vertically against the headboard and then laying on it so it could support his back as he thought. Arthur thought about the things he'd done and said, sure he was on the 'winning' side of whatever joke was being pulled but always aware he'd made mistakes. Some of them were mistakes due to how they had backfired on him, some because they hadn't worked when he'd been so confident they would.

Trying to get his files? Backfire, he'd been caught and nothing had come of them when he'd read them. Try to call Francis out on his bullshit? Both a backfire and something that hadn't worked because Francis was, or had been, very stubborn. Try to prove how he didn't even need to eat like a human? Couldn't even test it out because they'd make him eat. However, Arthur had started his push to victory and how? By simply going along with what Francis wanted him to talk about and calmly, logically, talking about his life as a nation.

Arthur had seen the confusion and fear in Francis' eyes, he knew he wasn't fooling Arthur now. Arthur shifted and put the pillow back down, he needed his sleep. Something didn't seem too right though, because why would Francis be scared? He didn't look scared to be found out, he looked scared that Arthur was telling the truth. Surely he hadn't convinced himself that they were human and the personifications didn't exist? No, it was something more than that.

But what?

Arthur was no mind-reader, but he could do something that would allow himself to know things that were hidden to him. It was time for some divination. He didn't want to see the future, just uncover the unknown. He was sure if he could draw his magic circle, he could make it work. He knew he wasn't going to get blood from anywhere unless he used his own and he was trying to appear sane. Chalk would do, and there was an art therapy room. Could Arthur convince Francis to let him do it? Probably...probably...Arthur lolled off to sleep on a wave of his own thoughts.

The next day, Arthur almost skipped into Francis' room. He sat down without his usual defensive posture (arms crossed, back either painfully straight or rebelliously slumped, eyes watching the wall rather than Francis most of the time). "You're not looking so good, doctor." he commented.

Francis had woken from his dream and not slept a wink the rest of the night. He'd dragged himself out of bed when his alarm had greeted him feeling like even the sleep he'd gotten had not refreshed him. The Frenchman had then spent the morning in a state of lethargy. He dragged himself from his bedroom (the same one he'd gone to sleep in, not the one from his dreams) and to the small bathroom just across the hall. "You look like shit." he told his reflection in the mirror above his sink, a distinctively less polite version of what Arthur would later tell him - and this would be_ after_ he'd tried to clean himself up.

Francis has started his clean-up by filling the sink with water and giving his face a good scrub to try and mask the dirty-sleepy look. He trimmed his beard and combed his hair with the comb he always kept in the cupboard under the sink. That had been a little better, but...Francis placed a hand over one of the dark circles under his eyes. Those would be noticeable and it had been a while since a woman lived here so there was no helpful make-up. Well, it wasn't a crime to not get sleep right?

Downstairs, Francis had managed three cups of coffee before leaving for work but apparently that hadn't pepped him up enough to hide from Arthur. Then again, Arthur seemed way too interested in making Hell for him anyway.

"I didn't sleep last night, not really." Francis replied, clearing his throat and drinking from a small glass of water he'd brought with him. His thirst wasn't quenched by that, he was really craving something more alcoholic like a nice wine. That would come later though, later. Too much later. Francis sighed inwardly and put on a smile. "Anyway, why don't we start? How about telling me more specifically about your brother's and family life?" Family, a safe subject, surely.

"Honestly I'm not sure what else you want to know." Arthur gestured as he spoke. "I told you who they are and I assume you don't want to know their entire history. Did we get along? Certainly, as well as siblings who are countries can. Which is to say...we fought a lot and still bump heads occasionally nowadays. I suppose there were times when we were just happy but memory is such a fickle thing when you live so long." Arthur was already gearing himself up, now he was going along this path he felt wired, electric, in charge. "Our bodies may not age or age very slowly, but the mind is another thing altogether. Our minds are our most human parts and they age day by day, maybe even second by second."

"What is most important is that they kept going long after our bodies stopped ageing, when that may be. As such, we're just as susceptible to memory loss and problems as humans are. Of course...that's where it get's strange. There are nations that have selective memories, that remember some things one day and not the next and yet things they hadn't know are suddenly clear to them. How do our minds work? I guess it would all depend on how human minds works and even that we do not know. I'm sorry, I started to ramble. What were we on about?"

Francis had taken no notes, just sat and listened to Arthur talk. His dream ran in his mind and Francis put down his pen. "I think I'm ill, and it's about time I had a holiday."

"What?" Arthur hadn't expected that. Was he giving up?

"This is our last session for at least a week, I'm afraid Arthur, so could we not go off topic again?" Francis replied in a much blunter way than Arthur was used to.

"Oh sure, well whilst we're at it could you refer me over to art therapy? I really enjoyed it before." Arthur gave his best and most innocent smile.

"Yes yes, whatever...I'll refer you...look I'm sorry, could we cut the session short?" A headache had come up, nasty and fierce.

"I'll be fine with that. Yes, very fine." Arthur grinned.


	11. Under the eyes of the bird

As Arthur had theorized, the chalk had left a good dark smudge on his skin and the fabric of his pants. The mess on his skin could at least be rubbed away, he'd have a harder time explaining the stain on his clothing if they asked about it. He hoped that by that time, he'd be long gone anyway. Arthur undressed, the half a piece of black chalk on the pillow of his bed. Dropping the clothing to the side to be picked up later, he dressed himself in something fresh and then picked up the chalk piece, placing it in his breast pocket. He then picked up the discarded clothing and neatly folded him before placing it atop the dresser.

Arthur observed the space that he had and clucked his tongue, it simply wouldn't do. If he used the space before the door, then what he had planned would be spotted too easily. It could take a while for it to be fully completed, something needed to hide it. The Briton got down on his knees and inspected the bed posts, finding that it wasn't screwed down. Awarding himself a small smile, he stood back up and gave the bottom of the bed a strong yank. The bed screeched and came away from the wall and Arthur paused.

The hospital was filled with plentiful sounds, voices giving out cries of murmuring to each other. Trolleys of supplies being pushed away, going squeak-rattle-squeak along the floor and through the doors. The doors opening and swinging shut with a rush of air and an occasional beep going off to alert someone to a patient. Those noises that formed the background hum had not stopped even a second when the new sound of the bed screeching had joined them. Good, even so he couldn't do this move all in one because the louder and longer the noise, the more likely it would be heard and then someone would come to investigate.

Arthur was sure that if someone did come, he could lie his way out of trouble, but they'd still push the bed back causing him to have to start again and a second lie wouldn't swim as well as the first. Arthur gave the bed a second yank backwards until the top of it was clear of the chest of drawers. He looked towards the door, then moved to the side of it again, the one facing the door. Gripping the cool metal of its side, Arthur yanked once more and brought it forward. The metal scraped against the wooden drawers and peeled away some of the varnish.

Arthur cursed and stopped pulling, inspecting the damage. It couldn't be helped now, only extra damage stopped. Arthur yanked it from the bottom again. It was now almost pressed against the opposite wall, the room much longer than it was wide. He knew different rooms were other sizes, and wished he had one of those.

Getting back to the side, the next pull did not cause more damage and Arthur was glad. He kept moving the bed away from the wall until it became too tiresome to pull. Scooting his way over the bed he pushed it from that side, back braced against the wall and feet against the bed. Once it was a sizeable amount away from the wall and almost further than his legs could stretch, Arthur stopped and looked at the space he'd given himself. The floor was laminated and Arthur could feel the under-floor heating powering up as he sat.

The lamination would work fine and be easy to clean...hopefully. Arthur took the chalk out of his pocket and started to painstakingly draw his first outer circle. "Blasted thing, why is it so hard to draw?" the circle had to be perfect, so Arthur kept using his sleeve to erase it when he felt it had gone wrong. There was also the case of not making the circle too big, the bed still had to cover it. The Briton strove on, as soon as this was done he'd be one step closer to escape.


	12. Plan in motion

Arthur finished both the inner and outer circles before the evening meal, leaving the bed out as he knew it would take some effort to get it back and the more he waited before going to eat the more likely someone would come and fetch him. That was not something he could have risked, so the risk had been leaving it out and hoping that nobody came along to inspect it. It had really been the lesser of two evils. He was also worried that he might not finish in time and the weekly clean would end his plan in one swift stroke of a probing brush.

After eating so fast he'd almost given himself hiccups, he'd been taken aside to be told that the vulture from before would indeed be over seeing his therapy until Francis returned - oh the joy. Returning, Arthur's heart had been somewhere in his throat but the bed was undisturbed from his moving it and no one was waiting to ask why he'd drawn two perfect little chalk circles.

They weren't ordinary circles of course, as soon as they were complete Arthur had filled them with his magic. A doubt came to him again, had he done that? Had he used his magic or only believed he was? He supposed he'd find out once it was all complete. In the mean time he had pushed the bed back, the frame as cold and unforgivably smooth as it had been the first time but this time he'd had to make sure he lifted it so that he would rest on the circle, but not rub it away. Arthur did not look forward to moving it back out the next time he had chance. The chalk he had hidden in his drawer, under the fresh underwear.

Yes, he'd see. In a way he'd already accepted that this circle would be the full proof he needed. If the spell worked (and the knowledge he'd gain would only be useful when Francis returned) then he'd be able to really freak Francis out as well as free himself from where he was. If not and the knowledge would fake, he was likely to be in here for a very long time. If such an event would occur, then Arthur would gladly accept the help.

It was a thought that chilled him, that he very well might be insane, that his whole life was a lie and he'd have to be birthed back into this new life (which was actually his real life) and deal with whatever came from it. As such the therapy to come did not bother him, he'd already learnt how to play this woman after all. The fake therapy was not the important part of this at all.

The important part was that he had to be strong, he had to believe in himself or the magic wouldn't work even if it was real. He was the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, often shortened to his real nation-sake of England and nothing could take that away from him.


	13. Interlude: Arthur's thoughts

Arthur finished both the inner and outer circles before the evening meal, leaving the bed out as he knew it would take some effort to get it back and the more he waited before going to eat the more likely someone would come and fetch him. That was not something he could have risked, so the risk had been leaving it out and hoping that nobody came along to inspect it. He was also worried that he might not finish in time and the weekly clean would end his plan in one swift stroke of a probing brush.

After eating so fast he'd almost given himself hiccups, he'd been taken aside to be told that the vulture from before would indeed be over seeing his therapy until Francis returned - oh the joy. Returning, Arthur's heart had been somewhere in his throat but the bed was undisturbed from his moving it and no one was waiting to ask why he'd drawn two perfect little chalk circles.

They weren't ordinary circles of course, as soon as they were complete Arthur had filled them with his magic. A doubt came to him again, had he done that? Had he used his magic or only believed he was? He supposed he'd find out once it was all complete. In the mean time he had pushed the bed back, the frame as cold and unforgivably smooth as it had been the first time but this time he'd had to make sure he lifted it so that he would rest on the circle, but not rub it away. Arthur did not look forward to moving it back out the next time he had chance. The chalk he had hidden in his drawer, under the fresh underwear.

Yes, he'd see. In a way he'd already accepted that this circle would be the full proof he needed. If the spell worked (and the knowledge he'd gain would only be useful when Francis returned) then he'd be able to really freak Francis out as well as free himself from where he was. If not and the knowledge would fake, he was likely to be in here for a very long time. If such an event would occur, then Arthur would gladly accept the help.

It was a thought that chilled him, that he very well might be insane, that his whole life was a lie and he'd have to be birthed back into this new life (which was actually his real life) and deal with whatever came from it.

No, he had to be strong, he had to believe in himself or the magic wouldn't work even if it was real. He was the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, often shortened to his real nation-sake of England and nothing could take that away from him.


	14. Suspicious magic

It took Arthur a whole week to complete his circle of power. It had been such a pain to him, dragging the bed back and forth and then exhausting himself further by putting his magic into the chalk drawings. He was thankful he'd memorized each rune by that time, or else he'd be stuck. There was no way he'd convince anyone that his book of magic was needed for his mental health here. He wondered if Francis would be back soon? He hoped so.

Yet...as Arthur lay in bed that night, his secret circle mostly hidden beneath the bed, he couldn't help but wonder what he'd do if his attempts only told him that he was crazy. Worse yet, tomorrow was cleaning day. Each room got a basic clean every other day, but tomorrow someone would do it top to bottom and than included under the bed where his very erasable chalk circle was.

Arthur woke himself up very early. He could hear some sounds of other people already awake, most likely employees of the place and insomniacs. This made the bed moving a larger chore, one little scarp and then sound would carry like nails on a chalk board. Arthur got out of bed and dressed before taking hold of the bed. Now his circles are complete it was always a matter of lift and twist and pull. It smudged the chalk still but not as badly as it could have.

With a deep breath filling his lungs, Arthur started on the bottom and managed to get it around. It still hid the circle, which was good. Better still when a voice from behind him made him jump.

"What are you doing Mr Kirkland?" It was unmistakably the voice of dear old bird-face Doctor Stevens.

Arthur turned to her with a very forced smile, his hate large and burning. It was because she was so unthinkably nosy. She had probed at him relentlessly in their sessions, without any patience. She though herself so clever for finding the chalk, when Arthur had already been able to outsmart her. He supposed she was very good at her job and only doing it as she had to, but that didn't mean he wouldn't go on hating her. No sir. "Rearranging my room? I thought that was obvious. I'd like a bigger room, too. If that could be arranged."

It was his attitude that convinced for the time being that he really had just gotten up early and decided that his bed needed moving. It wasn't the strangest thing she's seen someone do, she still remembered one woman who'd not slept until her room had been repainted a darker colour.

"It's very early, doctor." Arthur commented. "Or I assume so. I couldn't sleep because of the beds position being wrong. Why are you here?"

"Oh, I wasn't checking up on your personally, don't worry." reassured him in a cool soothing voice. "I wouldn't do that I assure you, I was just passing by when I heard you moving around. I wanted to make sure you were okay since like you said, it's very early." she herself didn't really have to be here for another two hours, but liked to get an early start. "Do you need help moving things? It could be a while before we can get you a bigger room and we want you to be comfortable."

"No thanks, in fact it looks fine here..." Arthur tried not to look at the bed too much, anything might clue her to look under it.

"Okay then, try to get some sleep, goodbye."

Arthur watched her go and shot mental daggers at her back. He made sure she'd truly gone before moving the rest of the bed out. Fixing the smudges with the chalk now so small he had trouble gripping it at all, Arthur sat in the middle and started to softly chant.

Light started to shimmer on the surface of the chalk drawings he'd made. It filled up the circles first and then dripped into the runes like ink, all the time growing brighter. The lights in the building started to flicker, making those at the reception desk and pretty much anyone awake look up and frown. Arthur chanted faster, his pulse racing as magic surged into him and images spilled into his mind, showing him the truth. The circle of power shone so brighter than anyone looking in would only see the outline of Arthur at it's middle. Arthur yelled out the final part of the spell and the entire building seemed to shudder.

Patients woke and cried out, demanding to know what was going on. Had there been an earthquake? Some needed to know just to make sure they hadn't imagined it, others knew they hadn't and were alarmed at the prospect of being in a sudden danger zone.

The light from the circle died instantly like a switch being pressed, only Arthur's eyes continued to glow for a moment. "Hmm...that's interesting..." he knew what he had to do now.


	15. Belief

"Good evening Francis." Arthur purred as his old doctor finally came in and sat behind his desk again. Arthur had no interest in what had been said about his progress, if all went well he'd be home soon and away from the many people who thought he was nuts. Arthur could see that Francis no longer feared him in that special way he had before, but he counted on that changing very soon if he was going to be believed. All he had to do was keep his cool and not allow Francis to sway him.

"Hello Arthur, I hope you haven't missed me too much?"

"Non." Arthur replied, struggling not to smirk at the strange flicker than went across Francis' face when Arthur spoke that simple French.

"Listen, I have something to apologize for." Arthur sat forward in his chair a little, studying Francis' passive face even down to the faint dark circles under the good doctors eyes. "You're not France, but you are his counterpart in this world."

"Arthur..." 'Don't start with another wild story' he wanted to say, but that would have been rude and unprofessional and he'd already been too unprofessional here. From now on he'd only do what was focused towards bettering Arthur's mental health - or so he told himself. "I'm not sure this train of thought is any healthier than the last."

"Oh I agree!" Arthur sat back again, the weary look of frustration he'd seen in a single second on the others face was not what he wanted. Time to call out the big guns, the secrets he'd been shown that to most would mean nothing but might just save his skin here. "The last train of thought was unhealthy, but this one is the truth. Tell me Francis, do you still have that ugly old lamp your mother gave you?"

"Ex-excuse me?"

There, that was what Arthur wanted. That look of uncertainty, the sight on his face that stated he didn't want to believe what he was hearing yet had to.

"You know what I mean Francis. Your mother bought you a lamp for your study when you moved to this country, but it had a horrible flower pattern all over it, including the large shade. You think it's too old-fashioned to use as a study lamp, but you get it out and put it in place when she comes around, so she won't be sad. In reality you have a modern lamp to use when you're in there. A bright red one that has three settings and works by touching it rather than a button. You almost knocked it over the day before your twenty fourth birthday and dreaded you'd have to use the ugly lamp." Arthur explained, looking Francis in the eyes the whole time.

"Bullshit!" Francis stood. "There is no way you could know that, who told you?" but even he knew that nobody knew all of those details, he'd been too ashamed of himself for being ungrateful. Already he'd broken his private promise to be professional but there was no going back, something spooky was going on again.

"Nobody told me but spirits." Arthur replied calmly. "I did what magic I could here, but in order to get back I need a few things. Now, will you sit down and let me explain? Then maybe you'll help me."

Francis felt like his legs were going to give way, never mind sitting down. Still, by some miracle, he made it to his seat and wished he had a cigarette or something like that. "First...I want to know this is real. What's my favourite colour?"

"Red, but only if it's dark, otherwise white which you think is simple and pure."

"...what was my first word?"

"Salut, your parents were just glad it was a nice word even if you hadn't said one of their names first. You used to say 'salut' to everyone and everything you came across."

Francis took a deep breath, resting both elbows on the desk and massaging his temples. "Okay I believe you. Tell me what's going on."


End file.
